POTC: quest for freedom
by Unimaginative Lot
Summary: A 4th adventure for our favorite pirates. The two dreadfully possesive Captains of the Black Pearl must work together to retrieve the charts from the feared land of the Sidh, a demension deep within Irish waters. Humor and danger ensue. Trilogy compliant SADLY ON HAITUS
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so here be an utterly predictable, common plotted and unexraordinary tale brought to you by the most uncreative individual of an unimaginative lot of the city of unimaginative, like wise the town of unimaginativity, ever to sail the seas of imagination. Ye be warned!

Disclaimer - The characters and events depicted in this unimaginative tale are most certainly plagiaristic. Any similarities to actual movies, popular or not, are entirely intentional. But hey! I'm not a box office draw, so Mr. Disney, hold your fire!

Chapter 1 - The Bargain

Alls fair in Love and War…

But this was neither there for everything had to be honest and straight forward whether our beloved captains were agreeable or not!

Deep down, in the furthest and most uncharted waters of their fortressed feelings, the honorable captains really were friends to the end… besides the fact that Barbossa mutinied consequentially leaving Jack to die on a God forsaken spit of land. Jack vowed to murder Barbossa for ten long years. Barbossa landed Jack on the same island…again…with a rum burning murderess. Jack shot and killed Barbossa leaving his body to wither away next to that cursed chest of Aztec gold. They both tried to kill one another while arguing about the Brethren Court once Tia Dalma had raised Barbossa from the land of the dead. Barbossa sailed away with their precious Pearl…again… and slippery Sparrow stole Barbossa's navigational charts which lead to the greatest treasure of all. All the while each paying the other great insult. Well… every friendship hits occasional reefs after all. Barbossa _had_ braved an extremely dangerous venture on the sole mission of retrieving Jack from the dreaded locker, and Jack was happy to see him. Even though some, Jack included, may whisper something about the 'Brethren Court,' there are also those who would claim that it was, after all, braved for the most amiable of reasons. The real question being: who's got the figure of it? Can sworn enemies unwillingly be blood brothers?

But enough of that. Attention must be focused not on philosophical questions but on what is presently going forward. Presently meaning this very moment in the present. Which of course is that which every one universally would find utterly predictable: Barbossa's resentful concurrence in one of Jack's genius self progressing, schemesh and probably "dishonest" negotiations; Jack being one of those honest men you have to watch out for. After a series of events, having nothing what so ever to do with Jack, captain met with captain, and just as Barbossa was about to pull the trigger of his flint lock with a relish Jack, with his maddening air of drunken surety, forestalled the moment with one incoherent reference to the "buried charts." Barbossa was furious. Sparrow's blundering tongue had got him out of too many already. Still, it succeeded. The fierce Captain Barbossa found himself sharing the helm of his ship with "Sparra" (with a roll of the eyes)… again…

Not forgetting the honest and straight forward part, the bargain was this: that they partake in an unmutinable partnership while journeying far and wide to the feared land of the Sidh. Firstly, to retrieve the stolen charts so that they may hence be in the possession of their rightful thief (Barbossa). Secondly to commandeer a fierce and hugish ship with transparent sales and unknown powers no manmade vessel could possibly posses, owned by a prince of the Sidh. This ship, named the Enchantress, would then be peaceably surrendered to Barbossa so that the Pearl could hence be in the possession of her rightful thief (Sparrow).

Needless to say this was a difficult bargain to close for Barbossa. Give up the Pearl? The ship he had mutinied twice out of under Jack's drunken stupor? At first the thought was absolutely unoptable, but regardless of whether the Pearl was his pride and joy, due to being the fastest on the high seas, he had to do what was best for himself and his crew. With this loathsome bargain carried out he would have both the charts and a ship able to defeat the best navel vessels in this world. He may not be able to outrun them, but, looking from a birds eye view, that was better all round: why run when one can defeat and conquer? Realistically speaking this new ship would probably bring in more material riches than the Pearl was able to. That's if she was all she was paraded to be. She must prove herself first!

"Why so pensive Hector? You're not the sort of former chartman to leave an apple to rot in yer 'and."

Barbossa squeezed the apple tightly and straightened up from a leaning position on the starboard railing to give Jack a grudging glare, "Well what else would I be thinkin' of?"

"How to survive the Land of the Sidh? Don't worry mate. You got ol' Jack to head you through, remember I've been there."

"The only man to be headin anythin's going to be me self! I always keep me word Jack on a bargain once struck, but ye'll pardon me if I don't hold the same confidence in _your_ word."

"Me, I'm juss…"

"'Dishonest.' Me point exactly!"

"But I have been there mate. An I'm the on'y livin soul that knows where be the charts chartman. Looks like you've got on'y one course of action then: you've got to trust me. And besides, this time you know fer certain you've got what I'm really after, (he lifted his hands from his sides and smirked as if it had been obvious) … me ship! Savvy?"

"Do I now… not even that cursed compass a yer's knows what yer really after Sparrow. An I'll just tell you this, ye best keep to yer word on this bargain or no amount of talkins going to stop ye from wishin you were still in the locker!" With that he sent the dripping apple gliding overboard, wishing it was Jack, before dictatorially striding to the wheel.

Frustrated with the world at large he spun it round. In a moment, however, his agitation subsided. With the wind brushing his long hair aside he became calm. He felt a slight exhilaration come over him as he turned the ship northbound. Being the feared pirate lord of the Caspian Sea, Barbossa had never realized that there was a certain something in him that longed to return to the ancient land of his fathers where mystery and legend joined to form the very stirrings of his own soul: his culture… his home…

Author's Note: This story will have as much accurate Irish mythology as I can find among my various books on the subject and of course as much as is productive for the story. I will also insert occasionally my own warped imitation of 'a legend' which will be completely a work of fiction, in which case I will give prior warning. As you can see I take mythological accuracy very seriously and would not wish to give a wrong impression. Thanks for taking the time to read -


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2 - Headed for Tortuga_

Barbossa stood at the helm attempting to salvage some remnants of authority which he refused to relinquish though the presence of an inevitable partner was indeed heavy on his thoughts. One thing perhaps which was not an unhappy consequence of his new situation was the valuable crew member gained with the inevitable. Mr. Gibbs, loyal to his friend as always, joined in the venture. Barbossa liked Gibbs, though he could not possibly respect a man who liked Sparrow enough to break code and all to save him from the gallows when he had a clear shot at the open sea and the Pearl all to himself. Well, if Gibbs chose to be loyal to a bilge rat that was his own business. He himself was amused by the man's tall tales and overactive superstitions. He would need quite a bit of diversion if Sparrow and himself were to survive a months long venture working hand in hand.

He still harbored a substantial amount of animosity towards Jack, the loathsome terms of their bargain too close behind him to have dispassionately rested in his memory. It was a shame he couldn't blow Sparrow and his vessel off the map once he returned it. That was impossible firstly because the Pearl could outrun the Enchantress. Secondly because, Jack had been wise enough to include into the bargain, as a stipulation, that he and Barbossa maintain an unbreakable peace through out the voyage, and after it; only to be broken if at some later date _after_ they've parted paths they should happen to meet and insult each other again. Damn him!

He took a bite of his apple to soothe his distasteful mood and gave the charge of the wheel to Mr. Cotton so that he could approach Sparrow to establish a proper heading. After two days he was getting tired of sailing blind in one direction at the command of another, especially Sparrow. He strode to the bow of the ship where Jack, Mr. Gibbs, and Masters Pintel and Reggetti were involved in lively discussion of some sort… he might have known: Gibbs, with his wide eyes, changing expressions, and poetically rhythmic voice patterns, was telling a story.

"Horses with silver mains and tails racing across the surface of the sea. Large salmon forged from silver. Silver watered fountains of all shapes and sizes, with hues of different colors bounding off all corners of view: that's why it be called the Many-Colored Land."

While holding an identical look of awe as that of Pintel, Reggetti cut across the narrator, "an' gold?"

"Aye…gold…orchards of silver trees with scores of golden apples hangin' there like shining stars in the sky…."

Barbossa startled them, "Apples! Golden ones a' that…a veritable paradise to be sure," he nodded then furrowed his brow, "but did ye tell them Master Gibbs of the sea monsters, an' the hags, an' the giants, an' the elfin demons, an' the territorial earthen gods tha' roam the Land of the Sidh as well… or were ye plannin on savin the best as a surprise?"

Reggetti's newly carved wooden eye, which was to his misfortune slightly too small for him, had popped out when he had started to look stunned. Pintel, who was thoroughly frustrated about his friend's lack of wits about that eye, still took it upon himself to maintain order with it. _He_ immediately scrambled to the ground in search of the renegade. Meanwhile Reggetti took the opportunity to get better acquainted with the Sidh.

"Earthen Gods?" He asked almost not noticing Pintel's clumsy stomp on his own foot as that stout man finally clamored up with the week old and ill fitting eye.

Mr. Gibbs became enthralled in the tale once again. "Yes, well you see (if you believe in such things), for thousands of years the local Irish folk have called them Gods because of their unrivalled power. Each have different skills. Different, but every one as powerfully terrifying as the next. What they truly are, are a race of peoples who have tamed time with deeds done for good, or sometimes _bad_, of others. They hold ever lasting youth as well as magical power. This fully qualifies them as immortals a' course, but they share one vexing weakness with humans: they _can_ die. Oh, not nearly as easily as we can, no; but if they're faced with a worthy adversary, some one who equals them in wits more importantly than in weaponry or power…"

"Gods in human form ye surely mean," Barbossa sarcastically pointed out.

Pintel, with a worried expression, joined in the discussion for the first time, "An' all of em' are territorially violent against humans?"

"As to that Pintel, 'Yes and No.' There are two groups of said gods: the Formorians and the Tuatha De Danann. Now the Formorians are dark and some times hideously formed beings, and by nature partial to the treacherous wickedness which they were born into, with _very_ few exceptions. One example was the lovely Ethlin, daughter of "Balor of the Evil Eye…"

At this point Reggetti's eye popped out again causing another scramble at his feet, this time involving his participation. Gibbs blinked then continued.

"… and… the hideous…. Ceithlinn of the crooked teeth…"

Reggetti stood with renewed interest, Pintel with annoyed impatience.

"She was a wonder because not only was she extraordinarily beautiful for a Formorian but she was pure of heart as well, and she was destined to bare a son that would one day defeat the awful Balor: her father. So if we meet Formorians, then 'Yes.' Generally speakin they're not the kind a man can negotiate with. Oh, you can try to bargain, but be assured that be a bargain you'll end up the worst for makin.

With the Tuathas its some what different. Generally speakin, they're benevolent gods who often choose to help human subjects through various trials and tribulations. But be warned! They can be just as temperamental and vindictive as the Formorians if they encounter humans that don't readily strike their likin. So… if we meet Tuathas… it depends on their ever changing moods, the appeal we as individuals hold for em, and the series of events which happen to bring us together at the time."

The smiles the term 'benevolent gods' had produced were swiftly wiped from their faces by the end of this long winded speech. Jack interrupted the silence this time with his usual drunken surety.

"Uh… might we be meeting a certain familiar face, namely… Tia Dalma? Cause she would most certainly get along famously with these Tunas, uh, Toethus, or misters, what's their faces?"

Mr. Gibbs shook his head correctively, "No, no, Calypso is of an entirely different group. She is guardian of the mid-rift: the region in an about the equator. But for the reaches to the far north or south there are other rulers of the sea. The Sea God of Irish waters is the Great Manannan. He by the way is said to enjoy going to troubles to be benevolent to all.

"Aye! I suppose tha' be why the Irish seas are so tempestuous." Mr. Gibbs looked confused, but before they could erupt into more discussion he continued, "Enough!" Barbossa had grown tired of going round and round with the same tittle-tattle and wanted to get to the heading. "Sparrow, I'll be wantin to know where's about we're headin exactly."

He produced a map of Northern Europe no-one had noticed was held at his side during the entire conversation. Spreading it out on an over turned crate he motioned them to find seats so they could get to work. Jack, as he sat unceremoniously on the floor and casually leaned on the railing wall, said… "Where we're going mate?… That'd be … Tortuga of course."

Every-one stopped what ever it was they were doing or thinking about and starred. Before Barbossa could give him more than a dagger spiked look with those cold blue eyes upon hearing this statement (which if true would mean that they had been traveling three days in the wrong direction and that Jack had lied about ever setting foot in the land of the Sidh) the speaker continued, "Thee _Irish_ Tortuga," he emphasized with an embellishing forefinger, "which of course isn't Tortuga a'tall, but some cursed Irish name I cant bloody well remember." There was a pause and Jack smiled his sly smile, "I just couldn't resist me hearties."

Gibbs smirked and Barbossa only shook his head with a look of unappreciation before continuing with business, "That be Tory Island, aye?"

"How did you know _that_?" The look of triumph on Jack's face was replaced by almost fearful bewilderment.

Barbossa smiled roguishly, "Ah Jack, ye may know where lie the location a' the charts, but ye'll never know where Irland truly lies… in the hearts of all her children Irishmen."

He gave a small chuckle at Jack's still bewildered expression before marking an 'X' on the tiny island off the North Western shores of Ireland, inwardly smug that he finally was able to dash a falter in Jack's confident and suave exterior.

ef

Author's Note: Alright, I realize many people believe Barbossa is of Scottish decent, and some even deny that. Being that I haven't read Rob Kidd's books I cant confirm or deny any of this. I just began writing this piece before I hooked up with , so those of you who like it are going to have to have patience with me and pretend my first impression was right: because Barbossa's nationality is an integral part of the story in this fic. Hope ye liked it: had fun writing it -


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Parley?

On this voyage Jack was behaving even more unbearably than on previous ventures with the Captain: trying to find any opportunity to steel from him or turning a corner abruptly to make the man jump. it's a wonder that after so many weeks he hadn't already gotten a bullet shot in his face. His arrogance never faltered however, knowing as he did that he had the indisputable advantage over his rival at present. One evening it came to its climatic confrontation.

This time he planned to sneak up on him while he was standing right on the railing of the bow looking out at sea. Perhaps he would get lucky and cause him to fall over board. Then he would never have to see that annoying face on his ship again. He came up very quietly behind him and suddenly, at the opportune moment, made his move. The figure standing on the ledge almost slipped right over after giving a stifled cry, but he managed to master his balance and hop down onto the deck. His expression was livid. He drew his gun ready to shoot his assailant dead when he was interrupted by an amused voice… "What are ye doin Jack?"

Jack answered through gritted teeth, "I'm going to shoot the undeath out of that pestilent, filthy, slimy, mangy monkey a' yours!"

He took aim at Jack, who had hopped confidently on his master's shoulder, and cocked his pistol. Barbossa very calmly and with a look that spoke half pity and half amusement aimed his own pistol at the life size Jack.

"Now Jack, you did say that you wanted unbreakable peace between us. That means leavin me crew, an all non-human crew members unscathed. Stick to the code if not to the bargain: 'all personal quarrels to be se'ttled on shore.'" With that, and a last smile, he and little Jack left Jack standing on deck with his gun drawn at an imaginary monkey.

The next day Jack was the one to rise with the bad temper. He had just gotten a good mouth full of a simpler version of his own trickery, and he didn't like the taste of it. 'Per'aps that was why they named the monkey Jack,' he thought. After all, hadn't he pulled the same stunt on William not long ago, before the whole 'Captain of the Flying Dutchman' calamity happened? Only bloody stupid Will deserved it. He was both a betrayer and a mutineer. His brows contracted into an even more uncharacteristic frown as he left the loathsome 'first mate's' quarters and took a walk on deck.

There he found the entire crew gathered at the bow looking ahead; all except Barbossa and Mr. Gibbs who were both at the helm, Barbossa making use of his 'captain's spyglass.' Jack decided to overlook this since his own was unfortunately shattered in his cabin and asked instead what it was they were spotting.

"Land," said Mr. Gibbs pointing a rough finger at the distant hue of dark blue.

Barbossa nodded, "We'll be makin port near Castletown Bere on the south western shore by tomorrow."

And so they had. After peaceably porting some ways away from the actual town, for it would only be a waste of time to pillage while their attentions were arrested by a much more important mission, they spent a total of two days there. The only thing which occasioned incident was a brief squabble over leaving one captain to man the ship while the other disembarked. This was not realized of course. They finally settled on Gibbs guarding the Pearl while both set foot on land. The crew now being refreshed with all manner of land necessities and the Pearl being restocked for further voyaging, they continued northbound once more.

Jack was not a sensitive man and he never spent time thinking on those ignorant sods called land lubbers. He generally gave the thought of them the benefit of a sympathetic shudder and thought no more on them. One particular individual had caught his attention at Castletown Bere however. A small boy standing isolated on the wharf with jet black tresses and large blue eyes which seemed too big for the pale thin face in which they hovered. The boy seemed completely content with his lot of observing the sailors making ready to sail, though his breeches were tattered and ripped too high for his thin and dirty calves. Bare footed and starved, the boy was the picture of poverty and misery, yet he displayed no such qualities in his expression. Rather he was quietly taking in his surroundings with interest as if filing the import of every man's actions on that dock. He had met Jack's eye and observed him as well, though he gave not a hint of what his musings were on the pirate. For some reason this boy stuck out in Jack's mind as if he were important somehow. Being that they were nearly to Tory Island however, he shrugged it off as one of those rare and strange encounters mutual human beings sometimes had where a connection was inexplicably made, pondered, then broken and forgotten.

Once they reached the vicinity of Tory it took them many days to bring the Pearl in. Manannan had for some reason, or perhaps out of indifferent whim, had chosen to set the tempo of Tory waters very high. It was the worst water tempest, with out actual rain and storm that Barbossa had ever seen, and he had seen his fare share. They managed it however, all the while watching carefully for the jagged underwater rock formations that surrounded the tiny island. They resolved, for the safety of the vessel, to bring it entirely on shore and rope it down so that it would be spared the thrashing about in the cruel weathers. When they were finally able to rest from that terrible ordeal they looked about them and saw that, unlike the green rolling hills of lovely Ireland they had just left, this strange little island consisted mostly of rock and some pasture. Pasture that was undoubtedly fervently defended and brought on by the small population that inhabited this windswept and barren place. As understandable as it would be if no one chose to live there, they knew it would never be abandoned. It was the only place Irish fugitives, hermits or pirates could safely port without worrying about being followed: a veritable fortress nature kindly provided for all manner of misfits. Even the name "Tory" had some lost link to the old Gaelic word for "Pirate." Maybe Manannan was being benevolent after all.

Returning to the matter at hand, every one was so exhausted after such a difficult anchor that they all decided to rest until the next day. Barbossa needn't even have worried about Sparrow and his first mate slipping the pearl away. It would take at least nine men to set sail of Tory island. They all waltzed into the small town's pub and drank and feasted while avoiding the main festivities which of course were brawls, duels and chaos. After wasting away a scrumptious evening and a relaxing night they were again ready to brave a perilous adventure.

"We 'ave to 'ike to the other end of the island, to the Sagory Bolar cliffs, savvy!"

"Heave to it ye clumsy curs, Sparra's got our headin," bellowed Barbossa.

To ease the tensions of two leaders and apprehensions as to what they might encounter Gibbs decided their was no harm in sharing the legend behind their destination.

"They're actually the "Cliffs of Sagdury Balor," which translates to "Balor's Soldiers." The legend goes that Balor… of the evil eye… (Ragetti had the presence of mind to slap a hand to his face while the offending name was spoken and Gibbs smiled his relief)… "that he kept 'is beautiful daughter Ethlinn imprisoned here on this very island, hidden away from the eyes of men, for it had been prophesized that his grandson would become a great warrior for the Tuatha gods, and that it would be 'he' who would one day take Balor's life… Imagine his anger when he came to realize that he had failed to keep his daughter chaste: that some how her lover had made it passed the tempestuous sea from the main land to visit her, and that she would bear not one but three sons. In his fury he took all three of his grandsons and threw them off the odd shaped cliffs people believed were his watchful soldiers. But! (becoming completely lost with the tale Gibbs embellished it with a pointing finger) he was yet again outwitted. The old sorceress, and faithful friend of Ethlinn's lover Cian, had been watching at the bottom of the cliffs and had reached out as the precious bundles fell, catching one of the babes before he hit the deadly waves. She was far too old and frail to attempt a rescue for the others, and so she took that 'one' treasure back to the main land and saw to it that he be cared fer by a humble midwife. He was christened 'Lugh' and grew to fulfill his destiney. He is known as the Many-Skilled God and is adept in all things havin ter do with war an weaponry."

Gibbs's enthusiasm continued long and thoroughly until finally they reached the cliffs by midday, the island not being over three miles in length. And what a sight did meet their eyes. It was like no other monument or act of nature they had ever seen. There was the even line of cliffs dividing land from sea, akin to most other lines of cliffs, but extending like outstretched arms reaching into the sea every thirty feet or so were massive walls of stone. The end of each supporting what resembled a monstrous human form: stone soldiers. One felt a certain forbidding of the ancient place giving it an unhappy aura.

Widening the only eye he was truly master of, Ragetti gasped, "Its like tha' cursed gold chest. Once ye ge' yer 'ands on it, it done seem so brigh.'"

With his suave and confident air Jack began, "Aye. Wha' you all are feelin is the nearness of a distant an different world come to life in this one. Every lass one of you gentlemen are about to cross over into the land of legen an riches mose pirates on'y ever 'eared of as a cozy bed time story from their mummies an pappies. A land spillin over the edges of the map, neigh tangible by most clumsy stupid whelps sailing the seven seas. The. Next. Big. Horizon."

With that he proceeded with outstretched arms and great agility to walk the length of the last reaching soldier. He walked all the way to the end of the stone wall where he stood atop the soldier's head and turned around slowly and charismatically, as if expecting to see a kingdom of subjects bow down to him. When he saw only Barbossa and his mutinous crew starring at him with a look of utter peculiarity he reacted in the most natural way: "Oh bugger." 'Re-trace me steps,' he thought furiously, moving back towards land. 'Per'aps it was one of thee other lads. No the door was here! Where is it, where's the flash-flash?'…"Oh! Dizzy." Flailing his arms wildly as he started leaning back he caught his balance just in time and continued muttering to himself. One can imagine how this must have looked to the crew.

Meanwhile said crew witnessed this characteristic Jacktherian episode intently. Quickly he passed from one end to the other repeatedly. It was like watching a man some where between drunkeness and fear trying to pull off a hat dance. Gradually bewilderment turned to disbelief. There was no city. Had the tales of the Sidh all been born from Jack's over reactive imagination, and had they indeed suffered a three month voyage through Calypso's wrath merely to watch Jack skip across a stone wall?

After the longest quarter of an hour Jack had ever experienced he returned to firm ground, for the first time since the journey began with an anxious expression and for the first time in his life not knowing what to say.

Barbossa had long since gotten over shock and even his rolling of the eyes while Jack was still tap dancing about on what looked like air. There was only one emotion he could reasonably express and , unfortunately for Jack, it was an unarguably 'silent' emotion. He withdrew his pistol, as he had done so many times before, and aimed it directly between Jack's eyes violating the deadly stillness by cocking it forcefully. The crew, especially Joshemeer Gibbs, almost gasped, but instead held it's breath for what surely would be their former captain's final moment. Then, out of a strode of brilliance, something that not even Jack expected mastered the moment:

"Parley?"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my caffeine induced creation. The tale of "the Stricken One" is entirely fictitious with no ties to Irish mythology or Pirates of the Caribbean what so ever.

Chapter 4 - The Picking of the Rose

Lord give Barbossa patience! Was he indeed doomed to be forever sparing Jack? Was it his unfortunate lot in life to treat Jack as he would an irritable brother? To give him chance upon chance no matter the ugly consequences? This time the image of Jack safely sauntering back down the cliffs to the Pearl with the rest of the crew was so revolting it took him a full hour and a half's walk about the cursed cliffs to calm his rage. He wanted nothing better than to keel haul Jack himself; instead he found himself agreeing to give Jack yet more license to lead them into only he knew what kind of quagmire.

"I'm thee on'y livin soul that knows where be the charts," he had said. "Shoot me now an you'll on'y be deprivin your selves of what you want mose. The task is simple lads: we muss find a way to get to the lan of the Sidh. Apparently this channel as been dambed, bu' once there, I can head you true. Er,… Do we ave an accord?"

So, again singing to witty Jack's tune, they were to visit one who many tried to avoid if they could possibly help it.

In response to the puzzled looks of the crew when the decision was made, Gibbs obliged with an adequate tale explaining the mystery. "They call 'er 'The Stricken One.' She was shunned and banished to this island which holds history of persecution towards maidens. It be said tha' this lass was born to a family of skilled and fierce people. 'Er father, a great warrior, s'pected his first born to be a strong screaming boy of destiny; not the bent and diseased daughter he beheld in his wife's arms. He was ashaimed at 'aving sired such a creature. The thought of having it known she was his own was maddening for 'im. The others felt the same. Thee on'y one who stood against the displeased father and his belief that they ought to have snuffed the life that began so miserably was his own dear wife, the girl's mother. Being tha' she 'appened to be his favorite wife, she did claim some power over his headstrong and prideful will. She prevented the girl's death with 'er furry an' when she died 'erself her last request to 'er husband be that he spare the wee thing an' that he see to it tha' she remain cared far. Well now he couldn't very well go against his favorite wife's last wishes, but wha' he could do was use 'er own words against her meanin. Pretendin te care for his lass he banished 'er to this lonely island an told 'er that if she ever dare reveal who her great father was, to anyone, he would be forgettin his promise to 'er mother. Its here she's lived ever since, concealed in a cave deep within the caverns of the earth so that none may look upon her. There she's hidden away from the sight of light an hope. Now the town's folk usually keep clear away from 'er, but in times of greatest need when their bellies swell with hunger or fear clutches at um: threatnin disaster, they put aside their fear o' the great warrior who left 'er here, and their fear of 'erself, to bid 'er help. You see, what the great warrior failed to value in his daughter, and what the town's folk make use of, is the tremendous power of knowledge and skills of 'er own she controls with the snap of 'er little finger. She may not 'ave been able to match 'er father in physical battle, but oh, had she wanted to rid 'erself of his cruelty, I fear she would 'ave been able to quicker than you could say 'Hoist the colors.' Very few know wha' she looks like. When ever the town craves 'er power it always sends messengers she's met an even then they say she never completely takes leave of the shadows. One ought to take care tho' when bargainin with 'er. She's got a furry for bein taken advantage of, not ter mention a sharp tendency for believin 'erself wronged. And her allegiances lie with no one. She's quite capable of leavin a soul high an dry even if she's known an helped 'im in the past. There was also a rumor that a band a farmers went into 'er lair but never came out. The story goes that these particular farmers didn't readily strike 'er likin. They found the youngest of the group half way te hell bleadin by the river. With 'is last breath, he said they'd asked er the wrong question. Before he could say more, he died."

"What she be wantin as payment?" Barbossa had suddenly returned and caused them all to cringe for fear that he still harbored malice in his thoughts.

"Well," Gibbs began, some what nervous at the fact that Barbossa always managed to sneak up on him. "As I was a sayin' before, she lives in a cave deep within the caverns of the island. She 'asn't seen day light in years an on'y has access to grubby roots a sorts. Many of the town folk claim tha' if ye bring 'er a right pretty bloom of any kind, rose or water lily, and a' course a kind word, seein as how 'er father was so terrible with the poor wretch, she be willin te help ye with mose anything."

"An where would we fine a righ' pretty bloom on this barren rock Master Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked puzzled and worried as did the rest of the crew. That is, the rest of the crew besides Jack. He instead wore a half smile of charming roguishness.

"An what are you smiling at Sparra?"

"Ah lads, there be more than one way te pick a rose…."

***********************************

Back at "The Tory Lagoon," the main tavern which was nothing more than an establishment serving those seeking pleasurable company, a young girl sat on a second story balcony. She was dressed in a, once elegant, ballroom dress which had been ripped at the tails to make an easier task of continual walking, presumably since its use was employed quite often. She sat absently watching the tempestuous waters. Suddenly she was distracted from her musings by a movement in the shrubs bellow her balcony.

"Oye! Yer steppin on me eye."

"Shh! Ye wretched codfish. Cap'n Jack need us te be inconspiccuss."

"Done ye mean 'inconspicuous?'"

"Stow It!"

"Ah, n', owe…" and suddenly a skinny man fell right out of the shrub in question landing flat on his back. He frightened the poor girl out of her wits, for she had seen many sorted types in her line of work but never a man lacking an eye. Screaming loudly she drew the attention of what seemed like the entire company of her sister propositionists. They came dashing in and out to the balcony to see what the business was about. Pointing an accusing finger at the two squabbling men bellow, the stout man now having left his hiding place as well, she screamed, "Thieves! They was hidin in the brush!"

Poor Pintel and his mate looked up to see much panic and one very large roomy lady shuffle to the front with a murderous look in her eye and a musket in her thick hands. They scrambled to their feet in haste, Ragetti quickly scooping up his eye from where it had rolled, and ran for it hearing a loud shot ring out behind them. They reached the safety of the pearl not long after, out of breath and severely worried about what their captains would say when they realized they had failed to keep their post. Then they became momentarily distracted by the sent of… a rose.

Wrinkling up his nostrils Pintel asked, "Wha's tha smell?"

"Smells too stron ta be a real one."

"An right you are lads! Its not a real one… Its better."

When they turned towards Jack they saw that he was holding a beautiful rounded piece of glass taking the shape of a rose with astonishingly real color: the color of sunset. He also held a bottle of ladies purfume which smelled of roses.

"Owe did you com by tha Cap'n?" Pintel asked completely in awe.

"Well when ye two were busy be'in conspicuous Sparra had the perfect distraction ter sneak in an plunder his lass's pretty thengs." Barbossa said with amusement in his eyes. He knew that had been Jack's plan from the beginning: to organize them as decoys while he slipped in the back window. It was really quite remarkable that anything could make Barbossa smile on Jack, that is at least for the moment. The picking of the rose had done that.

Author's Note: Well what do ye think? I must admit the last scene of this chappy was extremely fun to write and has become one of my secret faves, shh… Thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - A Name Better Suited

The rose was a treasure in itself: not only for its realistic beauty but for its rarity and delicate structure. It's previous owner must have suffered many a night of drunken swabs to earn enough to import it from some fashionable place or other, and now it was to be carefully carried away forever from light so that it might bring light into the eternal darkness. Mr. Cotton was given the charge of it's protection while they traversed the dark and maddeningly mysterious catacombs of Tory.

Mr. Gibbs, uncharacteristically quiet, was in the lead with their heading. Though he lacked that wonderful compass he did have the benefit of all that wonderful tavern talk which facilitated most of his tales and, in this case, his heading. They passed black bodies of water and deposits of stalagmite as they went along. All was dark and distorted in the small lantern light Gibbs held before them. They had stopped seeing small rodents and lake side fish long ago: all being vacant as they traveled deeper into the descending caverns. This place spoke some what of a hopeless feeling: as if all had died, and there was no one left but their own selves forever treading further into the depths of land not sea.

Finally, after what seemed like days, they came to a clearing in the rock. All were immediately rooted to the spot, sensing forbidding figures all about them. Squinting to see better they realized that these singular figures had been carved from granite into odd shapes of sorts. Each was tall and commanding, almost frightening: real works of art. They gave off an entire story by representing a single unconventional form. This room's conversational decoration, however, instead of displaying pleasure or beauty expressed only one thing: pain. The theme was intense anguish. To look upon these impressive sculptures, which didn't literally model any sort of object, one might feel as though he had only just witnessed the ravishings of battle on the innocent. Grimaces covered most of the faces of the party, even with the experiences these men had already lived to callous their sensitivities.

Upon deeper inspection a wooden table was noticed standing in the center of the chamber accompanied by four mismatched chairs, and Marty proved to be the crew member with the fortitude to brave the first step forward. Though he immediately stopped when a startling crushing was heard bellow his feet. He looked down and they were all surprised to see millions of dried blossoms of all different kinds covering the entire ground: years worth of gifts given as payment for wisdom and power. They could see this, not by Gibbs' light which was insubstantial at best, but by the impressive architecture of the catacomb itself. It, and the chamber they currently stood in, had been cut in such a way that dim residues of daylight streamed their way into these dark depths. It was truly a wonder how such a thing was done: considering they were probably miles beneath ground level; never the less it had been. Barbossa was impressively learned for a Pirate Lord, and he was briefly caught by the thought that whom ever had created this earthy structure had outwitted the ancient Egyptians themselves, who had to use ancient mirrors to catch the light from above in their pyramids.

Suddenly they were startled by a very stoically frightful voice, "What brings you to this place?"

They all turned towards the feminine tones which could only be described as having an elegant Irish accent. When they did so they noticed that there were several archways cut into the rock leading into passageways beyond. The owner of the ominous voice moved slowly away from the archway she had emerged from, making use of an interestingly carved cane which supported the stutter in her walk. Her posture was everlastingly bent as if she had leaned forward to observe something at her feet. Her long dark hair draped around her face shadowing it thoroughly, and she kept her eyes down cast looking always in a general way at them: never meeting any of their eyes. As a result, the habit joined with the shadows made her eyes difficult to see indeed. Not even their color could be definitely determined; only that they had a light shade to them. In contrast with her very dark hair, her skin (like her eyes) was as pale as it could be without lacking color altogether. Barbossa surmised that it must have been due to a continued lack of sunlight. She was very slender and frail looking, in general having a deprived appearance emphasized by her apparel. She wore what looked to have once been white robes. Now, however, they were a colorless shade of tattered rags.

All being too stunned by the strangeness of this woman's existence, the crew simply stared unblinking at her not really knowing what to say. It was left of course to the two Captains to exchange civilities. Furrowing his brows, Barbossa began, "We heard it told tha' it be yer custom to offer wisdom if our pay be of value to ye… miss?…"

"Call me a name of your own making," she said with a grave expression.

Jack piped up, "What say you to Ana-bell! Nice sweet name." He suggested this bouncily with one of his charming grins and flourishing hand gestures.

Just for an instant she looked up with sharp eyes to see the speaker, and Barbossa saw full into those intense and piercing, yet soft orbs which had lost none of the brilliance of life as had the rest of her. The moment was broken as quickly as it had begun; as if it had not happened, and her eyes were again down cast looking towards them but not at them.

"Nay. 'Tara' be a name better suited to ye," Barbossa commented: refering to the sacred gathering place where Irish royalty once feasted in honor of the mystical power, strength and beauty of Ireland.

With her unchanging expression of gravity, but with slightly less of a suspicious look, 'Tara' gestured for them to seat themselves. "Pronounce your aim. What is it you seek?" She asked, not abandoning the ominous tone, as she moved with difficulty to her side of the old table and lowered herself carefully into her seat. Every soul there knew better than to try to aid her: she was far more powerful than any rumor could have implied, and emanated a chilling respect no one chose to test.

Author's Note: Well what do ye think? I do like this chappy, if I do say so myself. But back to business: I thought you would all like to know that the deal with the architecture admitting daylight even though they were miles bellow ground level is all true. Scientists found tunnels in Ireland with that feature. Some of the best engineers of today took a look at them and could not explain for the life of them how on earth the Celtic ancients of Ireland pulled it off. Heehee… chop on you engineers! Bested by the ancients. Ha! Anywho, thanks for reading.


End file.
